Reflections
by Oscurotrophic
Summary: Draco Malfoy has always had family problems. And this time, the issues he chooses to deal with are better than his decision for remedy.


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**Reflections**

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By Kokueino Matataki

Okay, peoplez, I know the song I wove into this fic is Nina's "Tonight and the Rest of My Life" but I was listening to my MIDI of the Casper theme. I guess either would work; they're both kinda dreary and what not.

I think this fic came about just because I'm sick and I feel awful, and I've never written a suicide ficcy. This will be my first. And, hopefully, my last. Because I think one is too many. But there comes a time in your development as a fanfiction writer that you have to be able to face Death and get over it.

So, I disclaim _Harry Potter_, any characters I use (namely Dra-baby), and the song "Tonight and the Rest of My Life" by Nina Gordon.

But, I hold my ideas and plots to me like my own skin, so don't go stealing them or I'll get after you with my Tickling Charm.

And without further ado and rambling on and on and on, _Reflections_.

~~~~~~~

Draco wiped the tears from his eyes, cursing at his own blasted childish sobbing. His father left him there to tend to his wounds, snorting in triumph.

_Down to the Earth I fell_

So what if he'd been beaten again? It wasn't as if it'd help any. No, he felt as empty inside as ever, if even that was possible.

_With dripping wings_

Draco forced his aching body up off the bloody floor and limped up to his room, smearing the red blood across his eyes as he pushed back his silvery hair from his damp forehead. 

_Heavy things won't fly_

A few house elves fussed over him, asking if he'd care for something to eat or drink. But all he did was stalk, as best he could manage, to his bathroom and strip down of his stained clothes and get into his ornate tub, which magically filled itself with hot, steaming water.

_And the sky might catch on fire_

He ordered an elf to fetch him a bandage for his especially agonizing arm where Lucius Malfoy's nails had ripped the skin right off. It bled at the warm water, turning it slowly pinkish-red.

_And burn the axis of the world_

As he went about cleaning his scratches, cuts, and all of the blood, sweat and tears out of his hair, skin, and eyes, Draco thought about how this would've never had happen again if he'd just have shut up and stopped pestering his father instead of egging his way on for a smack. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't he learn how to be humble and gracious and polite?

_That's why I prefer a sunless sky_

When he ran the wash rag over his arm's slashing, he winced, tears pricking at his eyes. God, that one was going to leave a mark.

Just like his birthday present.

_To the glittering and stinging in my eyes_

Furious at the thought of what lay there, black and ominous on his forearm, he struck the water roughly, those blubbering tears coming back again, spilling over this time.

The only thing worth living for was . . . the hope that one day, he would be loved as one should be.

_Ah, ah, I feel so light _

He gave up on scrubbing himself of the filth the Malfoy name brought on him and succumbed to the bitter weeping. He would never find comfort, or kindness, or strength from friends and family. Really, did he truly have any of these?

_This is all I wanna feel tonight_

The emotions Draco kept locked away inside poured out in splatters the surface of his bath water, reminding him of just how silly and immature he was being right now with every ripple.

_Ah, ah, I feel so light _

These feelings were his proclaimed enemies, causing weakness and faults. After all, that's why the former-Potters had died, and that was why Harry was still alive with a hideous scar. 

Contempt swept over him. His father would never do that for him. No, his father would run away, ordering Draco to uphold the family name and be brave; just as Lucius was not.

_Tonight and the rest of my life_

But Draco wasn't his father, was he? In times of danger, had he run away with his tail between his legs and head still held high? Nay, he wasn't his father.

And this was his flaw.

_Gleaming in the dark sea_

Or so his father stated plainly every day of his miserable existence.

Draco growled, reaching into a drawer behind him, in a vanity. He knew what his fingers were searching for; that familiar coldness, the icy touch.

The icy touch of Death, breathing down his neck again.

_I'm as light as air_

If he couldn't be perfect in Lucius' eyes, then he wouldn't be in his eyes at all.

His hand gripped the handle of what he had finally found in his secret hiding place.

As he drew the long, thin blade out, he allowed a moment's pause for thought on the little dagger.

It wasn't too extravagant, but not too dull on the look. It's hilt was made in the shape of a dragon, out of fine silver, and the thing's eyes shimmering perilous red rubies. The dragon's body sat on a cross, not ornate but just so perfect it worked splendidly as a sight. The creature's tail smoothed out and into the blade, upon which was inscribed Draco's name as simply, _Draco_.

_Floating there breathlessly_

Draco brought the blade to hover just above that pretty blue vein traveling the length of his arm. His hold faltered, causing the knife to slip slightly. 

His hands were trembling.

_When the dream dissolves_

Why, oh why did he have to always upset his father? No matter what he did, he always got pushed back, to be a second, as if he not worthy enough the position at his right hand. Lucius Malfoy was indeed despised by all now, including, most including, his son, Draco Octavius Malfoy.

_I open up my eyes_

He gritted his teeth together, touching the chilling tip of the blade to the hollow of his wrist at a penetrating angle. His pale skin against the silver of the knife looked fair and girlish; weak and sniveling.

_I realize that everything _

In desperation, Draco shut out the sight of his hands and drew a line down his arm and into the skin, into the blood which pulsed in anger. He felt the crimson blossom from the cut rather than saw.

_Is_ _shoreless sea_

Draco proceeded to do the same to his other underarm after gaining a firm grip of his knife, his hand slippery from the scarlet hemoglobin -with a touch more grace about it. He peeked from behind his eyelids at the blood trickling away from the opening, plashing unceremoniously into the bath.

_A weightlessness is passing over me_

He succumbed to the pleasure of his Life ebbing away into the once crystal clear water. It was like a daze, a dream, really. Simple and true and unadulterated. He wasn't going to miss his life. Even in his fifth year at Hogwarts, when he basically had ruled to school, he hadn't felt as blissful as he did now.

_Everything is waves and stars_

If Lord Voldemort wanted to own the world, let him. He would just have one less minion this way. It's not like it would matter much. Draco had never been terribly good at wizardry, in his opinion. Of course, he hadn't been bad, but he hadn't been outstanding.

Yet, perhaps, he just didn't want to achieve over his father.

That fear his father inflected upon him rendered him of the confidence, the strength he needed to succeed . . . 

_The universe is resting in my arms_

Draco's vision was blurring; his lovely lavatory now was as blotches of dull color and swirls of light and darkness.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. No, Lucius Malfoy had trained up his son to not give up and stand for his own and his name. But was it for Draco's benefit, or his own? This is what angered Draco the most. The fact that his father was more self-absorbed than himself.

Though, now he didn't have to worry about that, did he?

_Ah, ah, I feel so light_

No, he would be gone without a say in the matter of his mortal future. But now, he was in control of his life. For once. Yes, he was taking it into his own hands, and throwing it into the wind.

_This is all I wanna feel tonight_

Was this what he really wanted? His thoughts were beginning to fade away into a wonderful abyss of beautiful darkness. Did he really want to just give it all up and die, never to have lived at all? Would that be better than living a life in the shadow of someone?

At least then, you'd be something.

_Ah, ah, I feel so light_

Numbly, Draco was aware the house-elf had returned, squeaked in terror and had gone to fetch someone before Master Malfoy was gone forever.

Forever . . .

It was a very long time.

And without Draco to pester, sneer, and altogether make existence horrible for others?

Preposterous, eh?

No, Draco didn't think he wanted that now. His anger had gotten the best of him again. Now, it really had gotten him. It had gotten his life. A life which, literally, was going down the drain.

Blankly, he realized someone was picking him from the frigid waters of Death and lifting him to the light. 

The light . . .

The light of a love never revealed. 

Was it there? Was it real? Maybe not terribly, but something was there.

Something . . .

The world needed a Draco Octavius Malfoy to make life on the whole miserable. That was his place. He could change it.

He would change it.

His life was his. Now, it was his.

And no one was going to take it from him.

Quite a reflection, on his part. 

Draco's life was _his_. 

Now what?

_Tonight and the rest of my life._

~~~~~~~

Well, I've finished it two days after it was begun, and it turned out to end on a lighter side. Well, good enough. 

*Looks at Draco sitting in a corner with arms bandaged up, a scowl on his pretty face.*

Draco-baby, stop sulking and come _here_!

*He snorts and turns away.* Heh, heh, heh . . .

__

Oh, Draco, what a pity you don't understand . . .


End file.
